


you came at me in the middle

by mockturtletale



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockturtletale/pseuds/mockturtletale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So then Nick is mates with a seventeen year old soon to be global megastar, and it’s not weird at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you came at me in the middle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beckoneveryone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckoneveryone/gifts).



> For Taelor, for whom I started to write this probably almost a year ago now. Sorry it took my new fandom being awful to give me the push and motivation necessary to revisit the ones I once called home. Strictly speaking this story began as a 'five times Nick Grimshaw was maybe a little bit in love with Harry Styles' type of thing, but I don't have the best track record with any kind of specific structure, so we'll call this A Take on that format, shall we? 
> 
>  
> 
> Title from a Foals song.

Nick always thinks that the pop stars he hits it off with really want to be his best friend, even though Gels persists in trying to convince him otherwise. He grudgingly admits that she may have a point when Beyonce never returns his texts, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. If he’s to make the most of this new and unexpected popularity and the celebrity that comes with it, he can’t keep acting like a besotted tween every time he meets someone he idolised in his youth or was completely obsessed with last week. 

He resolves to put the offer of his friendship out there on the table every time the mood strikes; every time he meets someone he thinks he’d like to have a drink with, because you can never have too many friends and this is a philosophy that has largely kept Nick’s natural tendency toward loneliness and boredom at bay for years now. 

Rejection isn’t rejection if no one comes right out and _says_ that they’re too busy and important for a small time British radio host like him, and Nick can and does quite happily believe that all of his would-be celeb pals are simply too busy to go clubbing or grab a kebab when they’re in town. 

But then Harry Styles becomes A Thing, and moreover - someone that Nick is oddly, instantly invested in spending a truly horrifying amount of time with. Under any circumstance. In any kind of conditions. He’ll sign a totally naff, not at all rock ‘n’ roll confidentiality agreement if he has to, because Harry and his band of merry teen accomplices might not be that big a deal right now, having not even come second on X Factor because there is no justice in the world or on television, but oh god they will be, and Nick knows this as well as he knows that his penchant for anything in tight jeans with tiny knobbly knees is bound to get him in serious trouble some day very soon. 

So when he offhandedly offers to take Harry out for a coffee the next time he’s free, (because Harry is the one he hits it off with, Harry is the one who takes a shine to him and it’s only barely mutual thank you very much, everyone there to witness Nick’s shame) he’s absolutely expecting to get rinsed. 

But what happens instead is that Harry says “Oh, yes please. I’d love that,” and Nick finds himself thinking that he’d _love_ that too, and everything gets a bit dim and fluttery and disorientating after that. 

 

____

 

So then Nick is mates with a seventeen year old soon to be global megastar, and it’s not weird at all. 

He really wants to say it is, because he feels like it should be, but it isn’t and that’s entirely down to Harry Styles being Harry Styles rather than _Harry Styles_ , even though there are definitely moments when Harry is around and especially when he isn’t, when he’ll be _Harry Styles_ for a second. Those are the times when Nick sympathizes with the millions of teen and pre-teen girls and boys around the world who just know they were destined to marry this boy, can’t possibly be happy if they don’t get to wake up to his smiling face every morning for the rest of the long, long lives they have stretching out in front of them. But it’s the moments when Harry is simply Harry - sitting curled up in the one corner of the studio that’s safe from cameras, his bony shoulders huddled into the jumper Nick wore into work this evening and his long, lovely fingers wrapped around the mug of tea Nick still insists he was absolutely going to finish - those are the moments that make Nick feel a bit weak in the wrists, shivering against the desperate, pointless hope that drops down his spine; runs in rivulets right through him every time Harry turns his extra special secret, private grin on Nick like he’s earned it, like he deserves it. 

Harry is seventeen, and Nick is whatever you’d call being smitten when you’re fighting it hard and repressing with all you’re worth. 

 

\- 

 

And then Harry is eighteen, and asking Nick out on a date, and Nick laughs and laughs and laughs some more, because isn’t that hilarious? Good one, Harry, that’s a right funny one that, so funny Nick is almost sure he’s not going to cry. 

But Harry persists, and says, “I’m serious, Nick. I’m very serious, and I can see why you’d have your reservations, but I’ve thought it through and I mean it. I mean this.” 

Nick sort of has to believe him, because Harry uses his name sparingly, uses it like he only has so many chances to say and is afraid he might run out, and it’s the most terrifyingly effective trick out of the entire arsenal Harry has built up against him, because Nick never has and never will know how to say ‘no’ to things that this person who he cares for so much it genuinely astounds him frames around the sight and sound of his mouth saying Nick’s name like it’s something special, something somehow important. 

 

-

 

Their second date is in a pub that’s closer to Harry’s place than it is to Nick’s, but better for that - off the beaten track and a good mile outside the London hipster mob’s comfort zone; in other words totally safe from prying eyes and paparazzi and people who will try to lure Harry’s attention in a way that never really works, but is bothersome nonetheless for how it makes Harry’s eyes go wide and sad, his hands still and solemn like he’s reading Nick’s mind, like he knows just what Nick is thinking. 

It’s quiet, or as quiet as a pub can be on a Thursday night, and there might be football on the tv above the bar, and the roars of the crowd there and here might be warring with whatever godawful club hit is blasting from the ancient soundsystem in the back corner, but Harry is reaching for Nick’s hand under the table and holding it in his own, twisting their fingers together and holding on. He smiles, but then he’s been smiling at almost everything Nick says for about as long as Nick has known him, and Nick can’t really tell if he holds it a beat longer now because they’re on a date and they’re holding hands, or because he really does agree that Rihanna’s new hairstyle is one Nick himself pioneered almost five years ago. 

Either way, Nick squeezes Harry’s hand and rolls his eyes in that way that has become habit, a way that Harry has to know is Nick’s only remaining way of avoiding beaming at him like a lovesick teenager. 

Harry crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out at Nick in response, and Nick remembers he might not be a teenager himself anymore, but he’s definitely something worryingly close to lovesick over one. He can’t bring himself to mind. 

 

____

 

Their fifth date didn’t really start off as a date, but it was only the third or fourth time that Harry had come out with the entire team after work, and London after midnight is Nick’s domain; Nick’s kingdom in a way that makes Harry seem the closest to unsure that Nick has ever seen him seem. 

Nick knows almost everyone here, onstage and off of it, and everyone knows who Harry is by now, they’re quick enough to accept that he’s here with Nick even if they don’t pretend to understand why that is or exactly what it means. 

But it only becomes a date when Nick looks around after a conversation he’d been having in the break between the opening band and the headliner comes to an end, and spots Harry standing off to one side of the bar, chatting to someone Nick vaguely recognizes, smiling an almost brittle smile and holding his shoulders down and straight like he wants them up around his ears, like he wants to be anywhere else but here. 

There are still times when Nick has no idea who Harry really is, and these are important times to experience; to have and to remember and to dive into; to get through and shake off. 

Nick has always known that Harry’s confidence doesn’t run half as deep as he’d like you think and that’s it more like something he can pull off and on than a part of who he truly or always is. But Nick has rarely felt like Harry looked or sounded or seemed to be in need, and that’s what he feels when he looks at him now. He wants to go to him, and he doesn’t know if he should or if that’s what Harry wants, but Nick needs to give him whatever it is that that might be, or help him figure it out and get there in the end, at the very least. Nick needs to show Harry that he can. He needs Harry to know. 

So he pushes through the crowd and doesn’t stop until he’s at Harry’s side, and he’d like to say that he has the charm and grace to smile in apology at whoever it is that Harry’s speaking to, but in that moment he absolutely doesn’t. He slips his hand into Harry’s and all but drags him away, and he’s so far from sorry about that and everything else. 

The club is small and dark, poorly lit like they always are and always should be, and the lilac stage lights make Harry’s face look paler than Nick knows it is, makes the curve of his mouth when he tosses his hair back out of his face to really look at Nick for what feels like the first time in hours look sharp in a way that’s nothing close to brittle; gleaming, full, _dangerous_ instead. 

_baby baby close your eyes, baby baby don’t think twice, I want you_ the singer coos over guitars that race over and wind around the sound, drums that beat right into Nick’s heart, and Nick tightens his grip on Harry’s hand and hopes he feels what he’s trying to say. 

_nothing could go wrong when you’re with me_ she says, light - like it’s a simple thing, and Harry shifts closer, helps himself to Nick’s space until they’re standing hip to hip, thigh to thigh. 

 

____

 

Soon after that Nick loses track of the exact number of their dates, or when and where and why they occur, because they stop becoming dates when they start being something else. 

They’re eating lunch together in Harry’s flat, and although that’s how Harry insists on referring to it, that’s not what it is at all. It’s basically a palace, even if Harry has been doing his level best to disguise this fact with a distinct lack of furniture and a blatant abundance of take out boxes. They tend to spend more time at Nick’s place, and it’s only the fact that Nick has lived there longer than makes it any more homely than this. Nick is thinking about making Harry do something about the conditions he lives in, though. He might even offer to help. 

“You’ll have to get a nice sofa, now, Harold. None of these La-Z-Boys recliners or leather sectionals or what have you, because what would Anne think. You’ll need a comfy settee. One I can sleep on. One fit for Bake Off marathons and dark enough that we’ll not notice when we spill wine on it.” 

As is, they’re sitting in one of the two armchairs Harry owns. Well, Nick is. Harry is sitting on his lap, because that seemed like the logical thing to do, to him, and Nick saw no reason to argue. It makes it nearly impossible to eat without making a mess, and Harry has almost spilled his tea on him twice already, but they’re not about to move to separate chairs or do anything drastic like that, because what’s a small scalding to getting to spend an afternoon curled up together. 

“That sounds nice,” Harry agrees, helping himself to a triangle of Nick’s toast, “We’ll go furniture shopping when I’m back next week, yeah?” 

They haven’t so much as kissed yet, and every other time the subject of furniture shopping has been broached around Harry he’s frowned and grumbled and refused. Here he is offering - asking - and Nick holds up the last piece of his toast, the one he was saving because it has the most jam on. Harry eats it right out of his hand, and Nick wonders how it is that they’ve managed to go about this all so backward, and in a way that feels so perfectly right. 

 

____

 

The very worst and very, very best parts of Nick’s job are the segments that officially feature Harry. He can’t believe he’s getting paid to talk to his boyfriend on-air, and he can’t believe he is bound by contract to talk to his boyfriend for tens of thousands of total strangers to hear. 

They’re less flirtatious now than they were in the beginning, and everyone says this is a dead giveaway. Harry’s bandmates seem to decide they’ll make up for what’s missing now by flirting shamelessly with Nick and Harry every chance they get, and every chance they can make on social networking sites or in the midst of the most official of professional commitments. 

When it’s a job thing, they try to stick to Harry calling in, and Nick didn’t think it would be harder to talk to him when he isn’t there, but it is. He laughs and jokes with him, pokes fun at him and his band even though everyone on earth knows that Nick Grimshaw shamelessly adores them and their music, and Harry is always a good sport; the very best, really. 

But Nick misses the sight of him when he’s trying to make Nick laugh during a segment, or the way he’ll unfurl from his little nest and wander over to wrap his arms around Nick’s neck during songs, hugging him tight and swaying along to the music like he doesn’t notice and can’t help doing it, whispering nonsense in Nick’s ear just so he can press his mouth to the shell of it because he’s a cruel and teasing young man and Nick can’t stand him, can’t stand to speak to him when he knows he’s far away or close to home but not right here where he should be, where Nick wants him. 

“I miss you,” Nick says when he’s cued up three purposefully lengthy tracks to give himself time, “I wish you were here to distract me and make my job a living hell as usual. It’s just not the same when I can focus.” 

“I’ll be home soon. Just a few more days, and I’ll come right round to yours. Unless you want to pick me up at the airport?” Harry adds, and Nick can hear his grin, knows he’s joking, but he doesn’t care one bit. 

“I would love to.” 

 

____

 

True to his word, like he always is when it comes to Harry, Nick is waiting for him at the airport, and he feels a little bit like the whole world stops spinning when he sees Harry, when Harry sees him, because Nick is set spinning instead. 

Harry’s been gone for ages, is the problem. He’s been away for _weeks_ , and they’d talked every single day, but now he’s here, and they’re in public, and Nick really did not think this through at all, but that’s something else that always seems to happen with matters that are Harry-related. 

Harry is huge in his arms. He’s warm, and he feels taller than he was when he left, and Nick can’t help it, he clings. 

Neither of them say a word for the entire drive home, but Harry keeps clearing his throat and then looking out the window, glancing away like he can’t look at Nick. 

Nick is curious, and maybe a little bit apprehensive about whatever it is Harry has to say, but for the first time in as long as he can remember, he isn’t terrified. He isn’t afraid. 

 

-

 

Once his bags are safely stowed in a heap right inside Nick’s front hall, Harry takes his jacket off and tries to push his hands into the shallow pockets of his very tight jeans, and then he looks at his feet and says, 

“There’s something I’ve been wondering about.” 

“Alright,” Nick says, dropping his keys on the table and turning to face Harry, nervous but still no more than that. 

“We’re … we’re like … we’re together, yeah?” 

Nick frowns. 

“Yeah. I mean. I think - I thought we were? I thought that’s what this was?” 

Harry takes a step forward and reaches for him, puts his hands on Nick’s hips and pushes his face into the space where the neckline of Nick’s t shirt leaves his skin bare. 

“So is there a reason why we haven’t slept together? Why we haven’t even kissed? Is it because you don’t want to? Because that’s okay, what we already have is great, but I just wanted to know, I felt like it’s about time I asked.” 

It’s mostly mumbled, and Nick wants to laugh, would laugh at how it tickles, but ends up shivering instead. 

“We sleep together all the time. Basically every single night we’re both around. The morning before you left for tour you woke me up by elbowing me in the face, have you forgotten? I certainly haven’t.” 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Harry all but whines, and Nick gives in. He wraps an arm around Harry’s waist and pulls him close, closer still, cups his skull with a hand that has missed the soft weight of Harry’s curls. 

“I - we don’t have to rush, Harry. You said yourself that what we’ve already got is great, so I’m not going to push you to do something you’re not ready for. There’s no need. We’ve got all the time in the world.” 

Harry steps back out of Nick’s embrace, and Nick starts to protest, reaches for him even though he doesn’t go beyond arm’s reach. It’s still too far. 

“Nick,” Harry starts carefully, like he’s the one that’s apprehensive now, “You do know I’m not a virgin? And haven’t been for quite a long time?” 

“Obviously,” Nick can say, because they’ve talked about their sexual histories, they just haven’t gotten to that part where they have a sexual present, because that’s territory in which Nick is definitely more than simply nervous or apprehensive. “But this isn’t -- we’re not just talking about sex, are we? This is more than that, and it won’t ever just be about that, I don’t want us to become one of those couples who just shagged their way into not having a clue who they are or what they’re about or what they want or whether it can ever even work at at all and -” 

“Grimmy. Nick. Breathe,” Harry says, taking Nick’s face in his hands and rubbing his thumbs up over his cheekbones, slow and gentle, soothing little whispers of touch. 

“My point is that we’ve already figured all of that out, haven’t we? Or at least … enough of it. We know who we are and what we want - we know that’s _this_ , and we know it works. So can we please get to the part where we can have sex on top of everything else? Because I would like that very much, that’s all I’m saying.” 

Nick only really remembers how to breathe again when Harry smiles at him, shy but fond and _here_. Home. 

He promptly forgets all over again when Harry kisses him, because no one has ever undone him like Harry does and the simple, uncomplicated touch of Harry’s tongue to his makes Nick feel like he’s gone a little bit mad, because kissing isn’t supposed to be this good; having the person you’ve been seeing standing in the circle of your arms and doing his level best to take you to pieces with nothing but his mouth on yours shouldn’t feel like the end of the world and the beginning of a much brighter, better one. 

And yet it does. 

Because Harry’s here and he’s not going anywhere and Nick has nothing more to worry about. 

 

____

 

Harry is wanton in bed, because of course he is. Because Nick has obviously done a lot of very good things in his previous lives, because he’s been nothing but selfish and wanting in this one, since he met Harry Styles and decided he’d do anything at all to get to keep him. 

And now he has Harry naked and beneath him in his bed, his hands drawing Nick down and keeping him where he wants him, the insides of his thighs warm and maddening, insistent around the cradle Nick’s hips make against Harry’s. 

Nick has Harry’s mouth going slack with pleasure around his tongue when Nick’s fingers open him up to every detail of Harry’s bossy and then begged instruction. 

He gets to keep the sight of Harry fisting his hands in the sheet and lifting his hips to meet him when Nick pushes carefully, slowly, surely, greedily inside him, and he’ll never forget the sounds that are broken out of Harry when they come together for the very first time, Nick’s hand low and tight around his cock, sobbing half sounds into Harry’s mouth because the heat and feel and _welcome_ of his body is the best thing Nick has ever known, and because … because … because … 

 

____ 

 

They go out for breakfast before Nick’s first morning as the BBC Radio 1 bloody Breakfast Show host, and he’s probably never been more thankful for Harry’s ability to derail every single concern and worry he has with a single look, a simple fond and cheeky grin or totally inappropriate near-public groping. If it weren’t for Harry’s champion prattling on about absolutely nothing at all, and his hand in Nick’s back pocket the entire time they eat, Nick would have his head in a bin somewhere right now. 

Harry has some promo thing to go to, and he could be late if he really wanted to be because he’s Harry Styles and he’s one fifth of the biggest band on the planet. But he’s also Harry, Nick’s boyfriend, who would neither intentionally nor unintentionally be late for even a dentist’s appointment, if he could in any way help it. 

They walk together through the streets of London at an ungodly hour of the morning and Nick finds himself thinking that if he can be happy at this time of day; on an occasion so momentously huge and scary that he feels like he might die - and moreover, might be better off if he did - in the kind of late summer morning light that feels just a little bit foreboding, like autumn has sunk its teeth into what was left of the summer sunshine and you’re left watching it bleed out … well, if he can be happy on a morning like this just because of this person he has walking next to him, then this must be what love songs are written about. This must be the kind of thing that makes you feel the way you do when you’re walking out of the cinema after the triumphant conclusion to a bloody great film. This must be what people lucky enough to find it come to live for. 

When they reach the corner that marks the point in their journey that will take them in two separate directions, Harry slips his hand into Nick’s coat pocket and seeks out Nick’s hand, squeezes it briefly. 

"See you later, yeah?"

"Definitely. I'll give you a call when I get off air."

"'Kay, bye," Harry says, sort of distractedly but he's grinning at Nick nonetheless. It's like even when he's thinking about something else it's become instinct to smile whenever he's with Nick.

Nick smiles right back and steps forward to hug him - it's one of those absolutely lovely hugs where the person you're wanting to hug reaches for you just as you're moving in for it, and the whole affair is easy and reciprocal and lovely-ly, reassuringly wanting. Nick tilts his head against Harry's for a second, their faces touching from cheekbone to temple in a way that fits just right, and when Nick closes his eyes it's only half because Harry's hair is in his face, half because he has Harry in his arms so he doesn't need to see anyone or anything else.

"See you in a bit. Love you," Nick finds himself saying. Saying out loud and with words, even if they're mostly pressed hidden and quiet against Harry's curls.

Harry's smiling again when he pulls away, brighter now, and he keeps hold of Nick's shoulders, his hands big and warm and so familiar that they do a lot to slow the sharp thump of Nick's heart in his chest.

"Do you?" Harry asks, voice slow and sure and full of wonder, soft with awe.

The moment continues to be uncharacteristically serious for Nick, and it's only fitting that he's completely still for what is probably the first time in his life when he answers.

"Yeah. I ... yeah, I do. I love you."

He does. He's no longer thinking about whether this is a stupid way to say it, whether he should have waited for some kind of big moment and gone in for a terribly romantic and sappy gesture or not. He doesn't even think about what Harry might say in response. He's totally and utterly caught up in the thought that he's said it and he meant it and he said it and it's true. It's a brand new kind of high for Nick, something bright and dizzying and absolutely never-ending. It feels right in a way that Nick knows won't ever be quick to shake or lose, if possible at all. And isn't that a terrifyingly wonderful thought.

"Me too," Harry says, and then he pauses to drop his hands, shoving them into his pockets and clearing his throat before he clarifies;

"I love you too, that is. If ... in case you wanted to know."

Nick freezes, seizing still in a way he hadn't even managed before. Because being loved by an international pop star is just a bit more terrifying than realizing you're in love with an international pop star and telling him so, apparently. Obviously, maybe.

But it's that same kind of terrifying, at least - heady and exhilarating and _good_ \- so it's a strong enough feeling that it prompts Nick into motion again, letting him gather Harry up into another hug even though the weight and heat of him is still ghosting a flush all down Nick's front.

"Is that ... that's alright, yeah?" Harry asks, sounding uncertain even though Nick is currently and illogically trying to fuse them both into one person.

"Yeah - 'course. Shit. It - we're in _love_ ," Nick says, because he finds that he has to say it out loud one more time before he has to let Harry go again, before he has to pack it back away until he sees Harry later and gets to say it then until he's blue in the face and breathless, because that's the only thing that'll stop him.

Harry lets Nick grip him close and tight for almost another full minute before he starts to get restless, and today is a day of miracles.

"Do we really have to go and do our jobs now? Can't this be our job instead?" he asks, pouting, and Nick resists the urge to lean back in and bite at the wet flush of Harry's bottom lip, but it's a close thing indeed.

"In an ideal world, babe," he says, to say something that isn't 'let's bunk off and spend the day in bed.'

"In an ideal world you'd be naked right now. Maybe _always_ ," Harry muses, and the fact that Harry finds him genuinely irresistible is just one among the many things Nick loves about him.

"You're incorrigible, Harold," Nick says, still beaming because he half suspects he'll not stop, now.

"You're also entirely too distracting," he adds when Harry's grin takes on that slightly wild edge it gets when he's plotting something absurd and magnificently dirty.

"Take that awful face of yours and get out of my sight, I've a nation to rouse!"

It's an incredibly poor choice of words and he's left himself wide open for it, there, but Harry just graces him with a smirk, because he's a kind soul really. And in love with Nick, to boot.

What a day, Nick thinks to himself, returning Harry's little wave and watching him walk away, reasoning with himself that the quicker he goes the sooner he can come back. Nick misses him already, because he's a total sap, but as he stands there wistfully watching his boyfriend's retreating back he takes a good minute to ogle Harry's bum, so some things will never change, at least.

 

-

 

Nick is not at all surprised to receive a text halfway through the show:

 _I can hear your smiile halfway across London, you know You’re doing a great. Everyone loves you. Me in particular_.

It makes Nick smile even wider, nonetheless.

Fincham and co have been mocking him all morning, throwing staplers and whatnot at his face and constantly groaning over how happy he is, how his success is already going to his head, taking his coffee away because apparently he’s jittery enough, he’s practically vibrating in place. 

Today is about professionalism, so Nick doesn’t let them in on the real secret of his smiles just yet, and that’s only mostly because he knows he’ll never hear the end of it, and right now he’d like to concentrate on waking up a million people or so, so he’s quite happy to leave his faithful sidekicks thinking it’s first day jitters making him wild around the eyes and a bit crazy in the hands. 

 

____  
____  
____

**Author's Note:**

> This very shallowly tracks the trail of Harry and Nick's friendship right from the very beginning. I was an avid fan of the night time show and must admit that I paid a much greater level of attention to both of these people during that period, so given the drop off in the focus of my microscope and the fact that this story largely takes place several years ago, I may very well have made some mistakes in the corresponding particulars of their lives at that point. Some details are fudged. All was not as it appears here.


End file.
